Terran Starship Command: Freedom Fighters
by Archer111
Summary: Story of the Terran Starship Command and its war on slavery.


Colonel Douglas Moore lay awake in his bed at Fort Titan, unable to get his thoughts off the unsettling news he had received earlier that night. "It had to happen now," he thought to himself. "Just before the war with the Brotherhood."

He knew there would be casualties, he just wondered how many, afraid that TSC might not be able to face Irons' army if they lose too many Marines for this. Even when he finally fell asleep, that thought still haunted his dreams. The next morning, he woke up earlier than usual, skipped his morning coffee, and headed straight for the landing pads with his two guards right beside him.

"Where to, Sir?" The pilot asked.

"Take me to Camp Medusa. The sooner we get there, the better," Moore replied.

Camp Medusa was established west of the Capital Wasteland not long after the attack on Rivet City, to protect TSC borders and monitor the area for any sign of the Brotherhood activity. It was a relatively small installation, but Moore was confident it would serve well as his field HQ during this operation.

()

Major Richard Summers stared at his empty bottle of Dom Perignon with a sad look in his eyes. He had just taken the last sip of this expensive champagne, knowing it would be a while before he could taste it again. And for someone who loved alcohol as much as he did, this was a true tragedy. He just stood there silently until a knock on the door broke the silence. "Come in," he said quietly.

A young Marine walked in and saluted, his face still covered in dirt. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" He asked.

Summers nodded affirmatively. "Private First Class Lipton. It's a hell of a thing you did there."

"I was just doing my job, Sir."

"Well, keep doing it like that and you could go a long way, Lance Corporal," he said with a hint of a smile.

"Sir?" Lipton asked, not sure if Summers had just made a mistake.

"You're being promoted. Congratulations."

"Yes, Sir!" Lipton said, trying to remain reserved. "Thank you, Major."

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by approaching noise. "What's that sound?" Summers asked.

"I believe that's a Vertibird," Lipton replied.

Summers immediately assumed the worst. As the commanding officer of Camp Medusa, he knew there were no arrivals scheduled for that day. Brotherhood of Steel was his best bet. He quickly exited the tent and saw an incoming TSC Vertibird. Relieved, he prepared to welcome these unexpected guests. He didn't know who to expect, yet he was surprised to see Moore in his camp.

"Colonel Moore. We...weren't expecting you, Sir _._ " Summers said immediately after saluting him.

"I know. We have a sensitive situation on our hands, Major. We need to speak in private," Moore said firmly.

"Yes, Sir. Please join me in the command tent."

As they walked across the camp to the tent, there wasn't a single Marine who didn't take at least a quick glance at Moore. He was a legend in the TSC, and his presence meant something big was about to happen. As soon as he stepped into the command tent, he started talking, determined to get the situation resolved as soon as possible.

"I'll cut right to the chase, Major", Moore said. "I'm sure you're aware that TSC has been waging war on slavers since its very beginning. After all, slavery goes against our basic values. We took over the Lincoln Memorial, invaded Paradise Falls and we have been disrupting their operations with every chance we got."

"I'm aware of all that, but I'm afraid I don't know where you're going with it," Summers said, surprised that Moore didn't say anything about the Brotherhood of Steel.

"Well, it seems they've had enough. Our intel says that slavers from the entire East Coast are uniting and organizing an attack against us. Obviously, we have no intention of waiting for them to do that. We'll launch a preventive strike against them."

"I understand, but what does this camp have to do with it?" Summers asked.

"This camp is the closest installation to their base of operations we have, so we'll launch our attack from here. I'll be taking over the command until we get the situation resolved. Our informant will be here soon to discuss the plan of attack. Until then, you're dismissed," Moore said and walked out of the tent. As he watched the Marines in the camp, the old thought found its way into his mind again: "Could this thing cost us the war?"

()

Three Marines stood in front of the mess hall, every one of them focused on the second highest-ranking military officer of the TSC Armed Forces walking through their camp.

"What's this all about?" Private Scott Garcia thought to himself, then asked his friends the same thing out loud.

"Whatever it is, it's gotta be big. They wouldn't send the Colonel for nothing. Maybe Irons made a move?" Private Ben Gordon said.

"Not necessarily. I hear Moore often visits the troops," Garcia said, as he lit a cigar.

"Can't be that often. It's the first time I've ever seen him," Gordon replied.

Michael Lipton jumped in. "No point in guessing. If it's important, they'll let us know in time."

"Well look at him," Garcia said mockingly. "He's been a Corporal for less than half an hour, and he's already acting all high and mighty."

"Shut up, Scott. We've got another Vertibird incoming," Gordon said.

The Vertibird landed and Lieutenant Miller walked out, followed closely by a pale skinny man nobody at the camp has ever seen before. Their pace was quickening so much as they moved toward the command tent that they were almost running by the time they approached their destination.

"First Moore, now Miller? Who's next, Karpov? The Commander? I was right, something big is about to go down," Garcia said with enthusiasm as he pulled another smoke.

"Who the hell is Miller?" Gordon asked.

"He's a goddamn legend, that's who. What rock did you crawl out from under?" Garcia said, sounding almost angry. " You've never heard what happened at that hotel in Washington?"

"That story is more than a little exaggerated, don't you think?" Lipton said.

"Exaggerated?"

All of a sudden, Gordon snapped at them: "Will someone tell me the damn story already?"

"Check this out," Garcia started talking. "So Miller and his five men were on one of those D.C. patrols, right? Anyway, they spot this huge group of Super Mutants, almost thirty of them, including three Overlords. So they call in an air strike that kills about half of the muties, while the rest hide in some old hotel. And now they're real mad, they start firing from the windows, it's fucking raining bullets. Two out of three Overlords still alive. Now Miller's team is pinned down, they don't wanna move a muscle until the reinforcements arrive. But not Miller, he throws a Nuka grenade through the hotel door and runs right in. The team can't believe their eyes, they think the man just committed suicide. After a couple of minutes, they still hear sounds of battle coming from inside the hotel. So they finally decide to move their asses and enter the building. Just as they walk through the door, they see Miller finishing the last Super Mutant, all covered in blood, completely calm. And then he just continues with the patrol, like nothing happened."

"Like I said, exaggeration. There's no way that really happened," Lipton said.

"Yeah, I don't buy it either. Kind of like most of the stories about the Commander. They just don't seem plausible," Gordon added.

"A lot of things about TSC don't sound plausible, yet here we are. Call me crazy, but I believe every single word of it," Garcia said, now already aggravated. "I'm walking away before I get really mad."

"He's such a child sometimes," Gordon whispered. Lipton just nodded affirmatively.

()

The meeting in the command tent was just about to begin. Moore, Summers, Miller and the unknown man gathered around the war table, ready to discuss the logistics of the operation.

Colonel Moore started the meeting: "Time to get to work, gentlemen. I'm sorry it was on such short notice, but time is of the essence. Our informant here, David Grimes, came to help us with the plan of attack. Operation code-named Sledgehammer. He has infiltrated the slavers several months ago and supplied us with the intel regarding this issue. Grimes?"

"Thank you, Colonel. The slavers' base of operations is located approximately fifteen klicks northwest of here. The complex has three entrances, two main ones in the south and the east, and a back door on the north side. The main entrances are heavily defended, but they're facing the forest that provides a lot of cover. The back door is not as guarded, but we can only access it by going through an empty field with virtually no cover. We'd be sitting ducks. Not to mention they'll immediately spot us if we attack during daytime.

"What about the west approach?" Summers asked.

"Mountains, very steep. You could try repelling down, but you'll be easy to spot. And if that happens, you'll be defenseless until you reach the bottom. I wouldn't recommend it. Now, here's the layout of the building. Two floors, most of the them will be inside, so that's where the resistance will be heaviest. They have around eighty to ninety people in slavers, they are no match for our troops," Grimes said with confidence.

"Don't underestimate the bastards," Miller said. "I've had run-ins with them in the past. If there's one thing slavers have, it's caps. And now when their business is threatened, I wouldn't be surprised if they upgraded their arsenal, maybe even hired some mercs."

"Trust me, there'll be no such complications," Grimes assured him.

"Major," Moore said. "You have the entire Easy Company under your command here, correct? Seventy men, if I'm not mistaken."

"Sixty-eight. We just lost two men yesterday in a Deathclaw attack," Summers replied. Just as he said it, a Marine walked into the tent and saluted.

"Colonel? You have a call, the Brigadier wants to speak with you," the Marine said nervously.

"Would you excuse me for a moment, gentlemen? We'll continue as soon as I return," Moore said, then left the tent. As he made his way to the Communications center, he felt something he hasn't felt in a long time - excitement. He never really took pleasure in war, for him it was simply a necessity, a means to an end. There is nothing he hated more than seeing soldiers die under his command. But despite that, he was a war veteran, a soldier to the bone, and after all this time, sounds of battle started sounding like music to him. Where everybody else saw chaos, he saw order and precision. Now, in the face of TSC's biggest battle so far, he couldn't help but feel both worried and excited. Whether he liked it or not, this was his purpose in life. This was what he excelled at. War.

()

"Moore here. You wanted to talk to me, Sir?" Moore said to Karpov as he answered the call.

"Good to finally hear from you, Colonel. What's the status on operation Sledgehammer?" Karpov replied.

"We were just going through the logistics. It's good that you called, it seems we're going to need air support."

"As expected. I've already talked to Mallore, you'll have three Vertibirds at your disposal. I think that should cover it, but that's not why I called. I believe this is a perfect opportunity for us to let everyone know what happens when you go against us. To show them what we can do."

"I'm listening," Moore said.

"Our scientists have developed a heavy tank prototype code-named Cerberus. It will assist you during the assault," Karpov said with pride.

"A tank?" Moore couldn't believe his ears. "I wasn't aware of such project."

"Top secret."

"Well, it's the most welcome surprise. And if you don't mind me asking, what's the status on the project Aegis?"

"All I know about that is what Nylus tells us, and he says there is still some work to be done. Don't count on power-armored units to assist you, if that's what you're asking. Now, is there anything else you need?" Karpov asked.

"As a matter of fact, there is. I think we're going to need some special stealth equipment for this mission."

"Stealth, you say? I believe we have a few pieces of modified Thunderfist armor based on Chinese technology. It should help a small squad remain undetected."

"That should do it. Thank you, Sir."

"I'll have the armor and some silenced weapons sent to you immediately. One more thing. You don't intend to join the assault, do you? Karpov asked, even though he knew the answer.

"I fully intend to be in a visual range."

"Well, don't. Coordinate the attack from Camp Medusa.

"But..."

"I'm not asking you, Colonel. That's an order," Karpov said firmly. "Get it done. Good luck!"

Moore walked back to the command center with mixed feelings. He found it almost funny how one short conversation could change the situation so drastically. On one hand he was frustrated by the fact he had to remain in the camp, but on other hand he just acquired new assets that should reduce TSC casualties to minimum.

"Where were we?" He said as soon as he stepped into the command tent.

"We were about to discuss our strategy," Summers reminded him. Major Richard Summers was a vastly different man than Moore, completing the objective was the only thing that mattered to him, no matter what the cost. He'd sacrifice a hundred Marines in a heartbeat if it meant accomplishing the goal. He used the greater good as a justification, but that didn't seem to apply when it came to his own life. Moore, on the other hand, realized the occasional necessity of such sacrifices, but only as the last resort.

"Here is the plan," Moore explained. "1st Platoon and 2nd Platoon of the Easy Company will take the south approach with the support of two Vertibirds. 3rd and 4th Platoon will attack from the east. They will be assisted by a Vertibird and the tank. We'll use this road in the southeast to bring it in."

"A tank?" Grimes said in a trembling voice, looking almost unpleasantly surprised.

"Yes, it's a prototype. You seem concerned. Is there a problem?" Moore asked him.

"Not at all, it was just unexpected. But it's...it will certainly be useful. Please, continue." Grimes said, still looking uneasy.

"Alright," Moore continued. "Lieutenant Miller will take a small squad and repel down from the west. Once inside, they will disable any automated defenses they may come across and look for any way to assist and ease the main assault."

"Sounds good to me. We'll need to stock up on Stealth Boys, though. It won't be easy getting inside undetected," Miller said.

"I have something even better. We've been provided with silenced weapons and modified Thunderfist armor for you and your men. It will allow you to be virtually invisible the entire time, but you will still have to be quiet and careful."

"I know what I'm doing, I'm not a rookie. We'll get it done," Miller said, trying to stay polite as much as he could. Even he didn't want to test Moore's patience at the time. This was a fight he wouldn't miss for anything, and he wasn't about to jeopardize his role in it by stepping out of line.

"Very well then. We move out at 04:00. Dismissed!"

()

It was the night before the battle. There was still murmur coming from the barracks at Camp Medusa. Not everybody could get their much needed sleep, as the anticipation of the incoming battle kept them awake late into the night. Private Ben Gordon lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, Scott. Scott!" He called out.

"Fuck off, I'm trying to sleep," Garcia muttered back.

"I have a sister. Katie," Gordon persisted. "She's been taken by the slavers a few years back. Haven't seen her ever since. Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Oh damn it. What is it?" Garcia said, now already fully awake.

"Why did you join the Marines?"

"Why did I...ah, I don't know, man. Shit, I guess I thought of it as my ticket to Poseidonis. I mean, it's probably just wishful thinking, but I have to try. I keep thinking, maybe one day when I've proven myself, they'll reward me with a nice little apartment where I could grow old in peace. That sounds like a good plan to me. Why are you asking? What's your reason, your sister?"

"Yeah, I guess so. You know, I tried to find her, but I never did. So...I don't know, I guess I just wanted to do some good, to keep things like that from happening to anyone else ever again," Gordon said.

"Heh, that's a much more noble reason than mine."

"What are you two yapping about?" Corporal Lipton whispered. "It's the middle of the night."

"Why did you join the Marines, Mike?" Gordon asked him.

"Hell, I don't know. Just go to sleep, we need to get some rest. It's a big day tomorrow."

"Oh come on, spill it out," Garcia insisted.

"Alright, alright. If that's what it takes to shut you up," Lipton said, took a small pause, then continued. "Nobody wanted to take me in. I tried Rivet City, Megaton, a couple of other settlements. The best I could do was rent a room somewhere, but I never had the caps to stay for more than a few nights at a time. One day I made my way to the Lincoln Memorial and I saw that TSC was recruiting. So, I figured I had better chance of staying alive with them than on my own. And I wouldn't have to worry about starving to death, either. That was good enough for me. Now can we go back to sleep?"

"Sure. I guess I'll see you all on the front line tomorrow," Gordon said.

"Not me. I've been assigned to Miller's infiltration team," Lipton said with a mix of pride and sorrow. "But I'll see you on the other side when it's all over. And don't even think about not showing up, you got it?"

"Don't worry," Garcia said. "We'll kick some slaver ass and be back in time for dinner."

At that same time, Moore and Summers were having a drink in the command tent. Moore already knew what he needed about the Major, but he wanted to see in person just what kind of man he exactly was before heading out into battle with him.

"You know, Colonel, I really can't thank you enough for this Dom Perignon. I thought I wouldn't see another bottle for a long time, if ever. Truly exquisite beverage, don't you think?"

"The best credits can buy. I've had that bottle for a while now, but considering we don't know what tomorrow holds for us, I figured this was as good a time as any to open it."

"Yes, we have a big day ahead of us. That much is certain," Summers said.

"You know, Major, you've made quite a reputation for yourself. I hear the troops even have a name for you."

"The Butcher," Summer said, almost making it sound like a good thing. "It's not a name I wear with pride, but I suppose I did earn it. Interestingly, your reputation precedes you as well, Colonel. We may have vastly different methods, but we both get results. At the end of the day, that's the only thing that matters. Wouldn't you agree?"

"As a matter of fact, no. I don't agree. We both get results, yes. The difference is I get mine with far less casualties," Moore said.

Summers smiled politely and started pouring himself another glass. "Do you know what's the real difference between you and me? For you, war is passion, an art. For me, it's a job. And I always get the job done, no matter what it takes. I don't always like it, but I have to do it nevertheless. I have to look at the big picture."

"But you're forgetting one thing, Major. That big picture consists of little pictures, and every single Marine is one of them. You keep throwing them away, and one day the big picture will simply fall apart. Don't think I don't understand the importance of completing an objective. I do. But I have the common sense to know there will be other objectives, possibly a lot more important ones. And the dead can't complete those. That, my friend, is looking at the big picture - taking the future into account."

"You certainly have a way with words, Colonel. But the thing is, you won't get to fight tomorrow unless you win today. And to continue your metaphor, new pictures will always keep coming to fill those spots. Especially the way things are going now, I mean, we're getting so many new recruits every week that we're having a hard time making room for all of them. So whether you like it or not, soldiers are expendable for the TSC. Everything else is not."

"Expendable?" Moore said. "And how long do you think this explosion of recruits is going to last? It's a natural occurrence for a new and appealing organization such as ours, but those numbers will start dropping soon enough. Especially if people hear they have a better shot at surviving on their own than with us. But here is what I'd really like to know - would you be so determined to sacrifice yourself? You know, for the bigger picture?"

"You...you can't compare soldiers with officers. Anyone can learn to fire a gun, but only rare individuals have what it takes to lead, to give orders instead of just following them. You and I...we are not that easily replaced. I know how that must sound, but it's just a natural hierarchy of things. The higher the rank, the higher the value."

Now Moore had him where he wanted him. "Then you would agree that my life is more valuable than yours? And you would give your life to save mine, or the Commander's? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

Summers paused for a moment as the smug look faded from his face, until he finally muttered: "Yes. Yes, I would." The lie was painfully obvious.

"Glad to hear that," Moore said with a smile. He was about to get out of his chair, when Summers interrupted him.

"Colonel. I won't apologize for doing what's necessary."

"Nor should you. But the sacrifices you make are rarely necessary, that's the problem. Good night, Major!"

()

The time has come. The entire Easy Company was ready, and for the most part, eager to get moving. Miller was in front of the command tent, waiting for Moore to give the order. Moore stepped out of the tent and walked up to him.

"Lieutenant," Moore said. "This is an important mission. Use your brain too, not just your trigger finger. No heroics, no stunts, no unnecessary risks. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystally," Miller said with a dose of sarcasm.

"Lieutenant. There's a time for daring and there's a time for caution, and a good soldier understands which is called for. Try to remember that."

"Got it."

Moore looked at him silently for a moment, then added: "One more thing. You won't be taking the west approach. Infiltrate the building through the back door and proceed as planned from there."

"What's going on?" Miller asked, unsure why he was telling him this in private.

"For once, just do what you're told. And make sure nobody outside your team knows about this. Now, are you ready?"

"Hell yeah."

A moment later, they were approached by Summers and Grimes.

"Colonel? It's time," Summers said.

"Eager to move out, Major?"

"Actually, Colonel...I think it might be better if I stayed and helped coordinate the assault from here."

"Of course you do," Moore said with barely concealed contempt. "Fine. But at least adress your men before we head out."

"I'm not good with speeches. I'd rather leave that to you, Colonel."

Moore walked out in front of nearly seventy men and women of Easy Company and looked at them with pride. He knew many of them would not be coming back alive, and the fact they knew it too, but still stood there so unwaveringly...that fact made him even prouder. He thought of what to say, but soon he remembered that one exceptional man had already done it for him.

" 'In giving freedom to the slave, we assure freedom to the free - honorable alike in what we give, and what we preserve. We shall nobly save, or meanly lose, the last best, hope of Earth.' - Abraham Lincoln. Over four hundred years ago, the nation from which we all sprung fought this same war. Today, we fight to revive those values we once cherished, but forgot somewhere along the way. Today, we show the world what we can do in the name of things we stand for. I firmly believe that one day, when you are old and you look back on everything that you have done, many of you will think of this battle as your finest hour. For today...we make our first step toward greatness!"

At that moment, many of them were given something they had never had before - a purpose. Something to fight for. Something to die for.

()

As they were nearing the slavers' base of operations, Gordon and Garcia started feeling increasingly uneasy. Their hearts were racing and their senses were heightened to the maximum. Every movement, every little sound made their hearts skip a beat. They felt like the anticipation was worse than the actual fight.

"Holy shit, I'm sweating like crazy here," Garcia said nervously.

"I hear you. I should've taken something for the nerves, Gordon replied.

"That shit only slows you down."

"Oh yeah? So does fear. I swear, if the slavers don't kill me, a heart attack will."

"Everybody stop. This is close enough," Captain Hamill, the officer leading the eastern assault, whispered. Hamill was an honorable man of easy going, but serious nature. Not quite as skilled as Miller, nor as good a strategist as Moore, but a good soldier nevertheless, respected by both his superiors and his subordinates.

"What's happening, Sir?" One of the soldiers asked him.

"Nothing. Now we sit tight and wait for the tank. Once you hear it coming down that road, the sneaking is over and the assault begins. The Vertibirds will follow shortly and we hit them hard from both sides. Now let's do a little recon. Hand me the binoculars."

Hamill takes the binoculars and scouts the area for enemy activity. "Alright, I see the entrance. Six assault rifles, a rocket launcher and a minigun. Two snipers on the roof. Two turrets. Big ones. The rest of them must be inside."

"Looks like our intel was solid," Garcia said.

At the same time, Miller and his four-men squad were already preparing to cross the field and infiltrate from the back.

"Alright, turn on your camouflage systems and let's move," Miller said. "Nice and easy."

"With all due respect, shouldn't we wait for the main assault to begin? We don't want to tip them off before the tank gets here," Lipton said.

Private Rachel Nelson stepped in: "Better not to waste time. We go in now and make the others' job easier."

"Did I ask for your fucking opinions? We're going in. Now," Miller said angrily.

They turned the camouflage systems embedded in their armor on and started crawling their way across the field. The back door was guarded by only three guards, but unlike Miller's men, they had cover. They crossed the first half of the field, when one of the guards noticed movement.

"Did you see that?" He asked the other guards. "Something is moving in the field."

"Shit!" Miller whispered. "Nobody move a muscle." He put the finger on the trigger, expecting their cover to get blown any second now.

"You two stay here. I'll check it out," the guard said and started moving toward the field.

"Easy," Miller whispered. "Wait for it...wait..."

()

On the east side of the base, 3rd and 4th Platoon were still waiting for the tank to arrive.

"Where the hell is that thing?" Garcia said, and at the same moment they heard the noise approaching from the road.

"Speak of the devil..." Hamill said and picked up his rifle. "This is it."

All of a sudden, hostiles started jumping out of the holes in the ground, snipers hidden in the trees were picking off Marines one by one, the enemies were coming from every direction.

"AMBUSH! Ambush!" Hamill screamed out.

"What the hell is going on?!

"They knew we were coming! Find cover! Now!"

"What the fuck, man?! What the fuuck?!" Gordon yelled out. "They're everywhere!"

Back on the north side, the guard approaching Miller was suddenly distracted by the sounds of gunfire coming from the other side of the base. "They're here!" One of the guards screamed.

"Now! Smoke 'em!" Miller said, and the guards were dead within a second, they didn't even manage to shoot back.

"You think they heard us?" Sergeant Sam Wolcott asked.

"Doubt it. Looks like the cavalry is here, they'll have their hands full with them. But let's move inside, quickly. Check the guards for keys."

"Got it"

"Now, remember the layout? There's a small room on the other side of that door, one turret. Don't shoot it, they'll hear the explosion. Just sneak past it. There's a good chance nobody else will be there right now. We do this fast and clean. Don't give them a chance to fire their weapons, we gotta do this quietly. Only shoot at what you can kill. If it's a big group, we don't engage. Got it? Alright, get in position."

They entered the building, but to their surprise, they found themselves in the middle of a corridor instead of in a room.

"What the hell?" Lipton said, stunned. "The layout is all wrong."

()

Back in the command tent of Camp Medusa, Moore, Summers and Grimes were monitoring the situation over the radio. The news were both confusing and unsettling.

"We've been ambushed! We're heavily outnumbered, need reinforcements!" Hamill screamed over the radio. The same news were coming from the south front. It was absolute chaos.

"Major, go to the Communications center and tell the Olympus to send reinforcements! Hurry!" Moore ordered. Summers was about to exit the tent when he got his brains splattered all over the door. Moore looked at Grimes, who was holding a smoking gun in his hand.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Grimes said. As soon as those words left his mouth, they heard an explosion outside, followed by gunfire. "There goes the Communications center. It seems that my friends have arrived."

"You son of a bitch!" Moore said furiously. "You betrayed us."

"Don't be so dramatic. I was just looking after my interests. You wouldn't blame me if you knew the things they offered me."

"Do you have any idea what you've done? How many lives will be lost because of you?"

"Do you have any idea how little I care?" Grimes said mockingly, and two armed men entered the tent.

"The camp is clear. But what do we do with the staff?" One of them said to Grimes.

"What do you think? Kill them, they're just dead weight."

"No!" Moore shouted and headed for Grimes when one of the men struck the back of his head. Moore fell to the floor and immediately tried to get back up, but Grimes put a gun against his head.

"Now, don't do anything stupid," he said.

Moore looked up at him. "Be smart. You might need hostages. They're of no use to you dead."

"I have you for that, don't I? Go on boys, do what you're told."

Looking at the floor, Moore said quietly: "You'll pay for this. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Grimes replied. "Now get up, time to get moving."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, you are. You can leave on your feet or on your back, it's all the same to me. But we are taking you to the base. Come on, it'll be a nice little trip," Grimes said, and Moore slowly got back on his feet.

"The base? That place is a war zone," Moore said.

"Not for long. Not that it really matters anyway. We'll be taking an underground tunnel leading into the base. And you can wipe that look from your face, because I know what you're thinking, and your men are not stepping foot in that base. Get that idea out of your head," Grimes said.

"We'll see about that," Moore said with confidence. "We'll see."

()

Meanwhile, the Marines at the slavers' base were getting desperate as the enemy advanced from every direction, outnumbering them three to one. Fortunately, the tank and the Vertibirds finally joined the battle, taking the pressure off the TSC infantry. The Cerberus tank was equipped with a flamethrower for close quarters combat, and a powerful energy cannon for long distance. As it arrived, it fired two shots at the base, destroying the heavy turrets at the entrance. It fired another shot to take out the sandbags the enemy used for cover, while the Vertibird decimated the enemy infantry with a rocket barrage and a minigun.

"Wooo! That's what I'm talking about!" Garcia yelled out in excitement. "Finally!"

Gordon screamed at him: "Watch out! 10 o'clock!"

"Got him!"

They took cover behind a fallen tree and started picking off their targets from there. At the same time, 1st and 2nd Platoon in the south were facing a more difficult situation, as they did not have a tank to assist them, but the two Vertibirds still managed to reduce the enemy's resistance. Despite the enemy's numbers, it looked like the tide of the battle was turning. The tank was about to advance further down the road, when it was suddenly stopped by several consecutive explosions.

"Where the hell did that come from?" The driver asked.

"The road is mined!" The gunner replied.

"This thing can handle mines, right?"

"I think it sho- wait what the hell is that?" He said as he noticed four men on the roof of the base, each one holding a Fat Man. He noticed them a moment too late. Garcia looked up and saw four mini nukes flying through the air, and landing on the tank.

"On the roof!" He screamed, picked up a Gauss rifle from the dead Marine and shot one of them, blowing his head off. The Vertibird immediately took out the rest of the hostiles on the roof, which prompted the infantry to focus fire on it. Hamill spotted and eliminated a rocket launcher aiming for the Vertibird, but it did not help. The Vertibird was taking too much fire, and lost one of the rotors. It started losing altitude, spinning through the air.

"It's going down! Move!" Hamill shouted. The Vertibird hit the ground in the middle of the battlefield, exploding on the impact, taking lives from both sides.

"Holy shit, that was close," Garcia said. "Right? Ben?" He turned around, only to see Gordon nailed to a tree by a rotor blade.

"No, no, no. Ben? Come, man. Come on!" He removed the blade from his chest and laid him on the ground, but there was no use.

"The fight's not over, Private!" Hamill screamed at Garcia. "He's gone, now take cover and start shooting unless you want to join him!"

The tank was immobile and its cannon has been destroyed, but at least the flamethrower was still working. Seeing what happened to the Vertibird, the two remaining pilots decided to pull out.

"You better not leave us high and dry, you bastards!" Hamill said over the radio.

"We won't last long if we keep this up," one of the pilots said. "We'll try doing fast carpet bombing runs from now on, but that's it. I'm sorry!"

"Goddamn it! Where the hell are those reinforcements? Camp Medusa, come in! This is Captain Hamill! Where are our reinforcements?! Medusa? Somebody come in!"

The other TSC installations were out of radio range, and there was no way of contacting the Olympus from the field. The closest link to it was in Camp Medusa, which, unbeknownst to Hamill, has been destroyed. They were left on their own. And things were about to get even worse.

()

Miller and his team moved slowly through the base, going room by room, silently clearing them out. Their first objective was locating the security room and shutting down the automated defenses.

"This place looks even bigger from the inside. How are we supposed to find anything?" Wolcott said.

"Miller? Where the hell are you?" Hamill shouted over the radio.

"We're inside the base, but it might take a little longer than expected to get the job done. The fucking layout was all wrong."

"It's not exactly sunshine and rainbows for us either. We got ambushed, and we're heavily outnumbered."

"Somebody sold us out," Lipton said.

"Listen, the Camp Medusa went silent, we can't call for reinforcements. I see some antennas on the roof, maybe you can get us some help from there. We can't hold it much longer." Hamill said.

"Then retreat," Nelson said.

"Not an option. They've got us surrounded, we're pinned down."

"We'll see what we can do, hang in tight. Over and out," Miller said, then turned to his men. "Looks like our primary objective's changed. We gotta find a way to call for that backup, or we're fucked."

"Be quiet, someone's coming," Lipton whispered as he heard footsteps coming from around the corner. The squad remained in the shadows, waiting to get a visual on the approaching figures. What they saw next...it was the last thing they expected to see. Two familiar faces - Moore and Grimes - were walking through the corridor, followed by five guards.

"What the hell is this?" Lipton asked, confused.

"That's who sold us out," Nelson said.

"No fucking way. Moore wouldn't do that, not a chance," Miller said with confidence.

"What do we do? Put the guards down?" Wolcott asked.

"No. There's five of them, and another one by the stairwell. That's too many, we can't risk blowing our cover."

"They're going to the second floor. We have to go after them," Nelson said.

"Not yet, we still haven't checked the whole floor," Miller said. He had an objective, and he was going to complete it no matter what.

"He's right," Lipton added. "The comm equipment could be down here, if there's any at all."

()

While Miller's team was searching the first floor, Moore was being taken upstairs. They stopped in front of a large door at the end of the corridor.

"After you," Grimes said to Moore. Moore remained still, until Grimes opened the door and pushed him in. It was a warm office, completely different from the rest of the building. A man in a grey suit sit behind a desk on the other side of the room. He took a sip of whiskey, then stood up. Grimes pushed Moore again, throwing him on the ground.

"Here, I brought you a little present," he said to the man in the grey suit.

"Thank you, Grimes," the man said, pulled out a gun and shot Grimes in the head. "I've always hated traitors." He put the gun back in the holster and turned to Moore. "Colonel Douglas Moore. It's a pleasure to finally meet you face to face. You can call me Grayson."

"Do you stab all your men in the back, Grayson?" Moore asked him.

"My men? No, people like Grimes are only loyal to themselves. Frankly, I have to say I'm a little disappointed. I thought you would see right through him, but luring you in turned out to be surprisingly easy."

"What can I say? Your deceit was unexpected," Moore said with a dose of sarcasm, which Grayson was too arrogant to notice.

"All warfare is based on deception, Colonel."

"Sun Tzu," Moore said quietly.

Surprised, Grayson looked at him with a smile. "I am impressed. It's difficult to have an educated discussion with these...savages. They are not like you and me - we are gentlemen."

"You're a slaver, that's hardly what I would call a gentleman. And I am nothing like you," Moore said with contempt.

"Manners, Colonel. You really shouldn't buy into stereotypes. You know nothing about me, and yet you are so quick to judge me. I expected better from you."

"I know what you do for living, and that's all I need to know. You live off other people's misery."

"Oh, come on now. I'm surviving by doing what I do best, just like you. One man's success is always at the cost of others, that's the harsh reality. You may not enslave people, but you do owe your power and luxury to all the people you've killed, sacrificed and imprisoned to get where you are now, and you would have kept on doing it if we hadn't won today."

"Not that I have to justify myself to you, but it's not the same. That's war! Soldiers know what they're in for, unlike the people you pick off the streets, separate from their families and make them suffer for your life of comfort. I've told you before I am telling you again for the last time, do not try to compare us."

"Do you take pleasure in what you do, Colonel?"

Moore paused for a moment, then said: "At times."

"I don't," Grayson said. "But I do it because it's the only thing I know how to do. The only thing I'm good at. Although, you know what I've learned? Freedom has become overrated...it's just not what it used to be. This may seem ridiculous to you, but we actually make lives better for some of them. As long as they do what they're told, they have food, shelter and security. Things many of them rarely had on their own," Grayson said.

"And if they don't do what they're told?"

"Well...nothing in life is free. We all give for what we take."

"And what exactly do you give? Whatever it is, at least you have a choice. Slaves don't have that luxury."

Grayson's face turned gloomy. Staring at the floor, he said: "Believe it or not, the price I pay for that choice is more than a little blood and sweat." After a moment, he collected himself and looked back up. "Now, as much as I enjoyed our little discussion, I think it's high time we got to business. What I need from you is information. Everything you've got on TSC. And I mean everything."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have let me know how you feel about traitors," Moore said.

"Grimes turned traitor because of greed. I knew you would never do that, so I never offered anything. No, you will do it because you'll have no choice in the matter," Grayson replied.

"We'll see about that."

"Colonel. Do you know why I insisted to be the first one to talk to you? Because you are the kind of person I respect, and I know enough about you to know you deserve to be treated with dignity. So I'm hoping you will be as reasonable as I think you are, and tell me what I need to know before it gets ugly."

"As much as I appreciate your concern, my answer will remain the same no matter what you do," Moore said firmly.

"I know you believe that. And the fact you are so determined will only make things worse for you. The people I work with...I've seen how they handle the likes of you. They are animals. Trust me when I tell you - everyone breaks sooner or later. And so will you. So be smart, tell me what I need to know right now and spare yourself the world of pain. If you do that, I promise you a quick death."

"How about I make you a counter-offer?"

"I'm listening," Grayson said, interested to hear what Moore had to say.

"Release me now and surrender yourself. You do that, and I promise you'll have a fair trial. Perhaps you will even avoid the death sentence. That is my final offer. I suggest you take it before it expires," Moore said calmly.

Grayson couldn't help but laugh. "I apologize, that was rude of me. But in my defense, that was really funny. I'm afraid I have to respectfully decline your offer. Now, will you take me up on mine or not? I won't ask you again."

"I think we both know the answer to that, Grayson."

"I suppose we do. A pity. Well, you'll regret it soon enough. It's been a pleasure, Colonel."

"I wish I could say the same," Moore said, as he was being taken to the interrogation room.

()

Outside of the base, the Marines were in a hell. The carpet bombing, although helpful at first, set half of the forest on fire. The enemy resistance wasn't as heavy anymore, but now the TSC forces were surrounded by spreading fire. It looked like it couldn't get any worse, but then the tank exploded, now completely destroyed.

"Where did that come from?" A Marine asked, as another explosion hit near them.

"MORTAAARS!" Hamill screamed.

"Where the hell did they get mortars?!" Garcia screamed back. It seemed like the whole battlefield was blowing up. Between that, the fire and the remaining enemy forces, they truly were in hell. Meanwhile, Miller's team searched almost the entire floor, but found nothing useful. There was now only one more room left. The door was open, and all they could hear from inside was: "I don't want to set the world on firee..."

"The last one," Miller said and took a quick look inside the room. "Looks like this is the armory. Pretty empty."

"I guess most of the weapons are being put to use outside as we speak," Nelson commented.

"Two hostiles. Lipton, you take the one on the right, I'll take left one. On three. One, two, three." The guards hit the ground simultaneously.

"Nicely done."

"They've got some nice toys here," Wolcott said. "Pretty fancy stuff for the slavers."

"I told them these guys are not to be fucked with. They're running a profitable business, they can afford all kinds of crap."

"Look at this. Remote explosives," Lipton said.

"Good, we can use them. Set them up and take the detonator. We might need a distraction later," Miller said. "Time to visit the second floor.

They returned to the stairwell, where a guard was patrolling, going up and down. They waited for him to turn his back, then Miller slowly walked up behind him and slit his throat with a knife. They have just reached the second floor, when Hamill contacted them again.

"Miller? Where are my reinforcements?!"

"Working on it," Miller replied.

"Well, work faster! We'll burn if the mortars don't get us first!"

"Mortars?" Nelson asked. She couldn't believe her ears.

"They're on the roof, but we can't get them from here and it's too dangerous for the Vertibirds. You hav-"

"Hamill?"

"Did we lose him?" Wolcott asked.

"Probably." Miller replied. "Oh, fuck it!" He said and headed for the first room on the right.

"Miller! What are you doing?" Lipton said.

Miller kicked in the door, stabbed a man who found himself right in front of him and shot another one, who didn't even manage to get out of his chair, right in the head. The third man tried to grab his rifle, but Miller shot him in the shoulder and run into him, throwing him on the ground. He pointed a gun at him.

"Where's the security room?"

"I'm not telling you a th - aargh."

Miller stepped on the man's wound. "Do I look like I'm fucking around? Tell me or I swear I'll beat you to death"

"It's here!" The man screamed. "This is the security room."

"And the comm room?"

"There is no - aargh - alright, alright! Go to the end of this corridor, turn right, the second room on the left. There's some communication equipment."

"Good," Miller said and shot him in the head. Taking prisoners would make his job significantly more difficult, and leaving him there alive, even if unconscious, was too risky.

"What are you doing?! This isn't war, this is murder," Nelson said, upset.

"No, this is the Wasteland. Dunno where you've been living, and I don't give a shit. This is how you get the job done, now shut the fuck up and turn those defenses off! Turrets, locks, everything."

()

Grayson walked into the interrogation room, wanting to see if Moore broke yet. There he was, tied to a chair, his face all swollen and bloody.

"He's still not talking", one of the men said.

Grayson crouched in front of Moore. "I take no pleasure in this, Colonel, I really don't. But you're not leaving me any choice. Come on, just tell us what we need to know and this ends now."

"I don't think so," Moore said firmly. One moment later, a man walked in the room.

"Sir, we've got a problem," he said.

"What?"

"The back door's been breached. Half of our people downstairs are dead."

Grayson noticed a subtle look of content on Moore's face. Still looking Moore in the eyes, he asked the man: "What happened on the west flank?"

"Nothing, sir. Our men were in position, but nobody repelled down like you said they would."

"All warfare is based on deception, right? Maybe Grimes wasn't that convincing after all," Moore said.

Grayson kicked the chair down and started kicking Moore. "WHY..CAN'T YOU...JUST...COOPERATE?!" He yelled out. He took a moment to collect himself and turned back to one of his men.

"Get him back up," he ordered.

"Nice...nice to finally meet the real you," Moore said, struggling with every word. He could feel his ribs have been broken, and every breath felt like a punch in the chest.

"I'm running out of patience here," Grayson said. It was easy for him to remain calm and pretend to be better than the other slavers when he was sure he had everything under control. But as soon as the situation started getting out of hand, he started becoming increasingly nervous, revealing his true nature. He was like any other slaver, violent and more than willing to sacrifice anyone to get what he wanted.

"My off..", Moore tried to speak, but the pain interrupted him.

Grayson crouched in front of him once again. "What?"

"My offer just expired."

Grayson's men started laughing, but not him. Not this time. He smiled, but his eyes were filled with rage. He turned around and picked up a hammer.

"See this?" he said. "My men love using this. Don't you, boys?"

"Sure do, boss."

"They start with toes," Grayson continued. "If you don't start talking by the time they're finished with them, they make their way up to your knees. Guess what comes next."

Moore remained silent.

"Nothing? No smart comeback?" Grayson said mockingly and handed over the hammer to one of his men. "Don't go easy on him," he added and exited the room.

()

"The defenses are down," Nelson said. Just as she said it, the alarm went off.

"What did you do?" Lipton asked.

"Nothing, it wasn't me!"

"Turn the turrets back on," Miller said.

"What? I just disabled them," Nelson replied.

"Turned them on, but reset the targeting parameters. We could use some help," Miller said.

"You realize they'll still be targeting us, too?

"Yeah."

As Nelson reset the targeting parameters, they could hear the gunfire outside the room. They waited a few minutes for things to quiet down, then Miller ordered to have turrets disabled again. He then smashed the terminal and they exited the room. As they fought their way through the corridors, Miller heard screams coming from one of the rooms.

"Fuck, that's Moore. Take positions, we're breaching in. On three. One, two, three!"

Miller kicked in the door. The two slavers didn't know what hit them, they were dead on the floor before they got a chance to blink.

"Watch the door!" Miller said.

Moore was nearly unconscious, covered in blood, his toes and one knee completely shattered. Miller run to him and untied him.

"Colonel. Colonel!"

"Looks bad. He's lost a lot of blood," Lipton said.

"Shut up and throw me a medi gel! Today, Lipton!

Lipton pulled out the gel. "Come on you old bastard," Miller said as he applied it. He knew he would probably got kicked out of the army a long time ago, or worse, if it wasn't for Moore. He couldn't let him die.

After a few moments, Moore regained full consciousness.

"Can you walk, Sir?" Lipton asked.

"We're about to find out," Moore replied. He tried to stand up, but his leg collapsed under his own weight. "Damn it!"

"Alright, alright." Miller said. "Can you at least hold a gun?"

"That I can."

"Good. Here, take it. Nelson, you stay with him and barricade yourselves in until we come back. The rest of us will move forward with the plan."

"What precisely is this plan?", Moore asked.

Nelson'll explain, we gotta move. Fast." Miller said.

"Go, then. I trust you know what you're doing." And he did trust him. For all his reckless behavior, Miller really knew what he was doing.

()

The southern battlefield was lost. Each and every Marine of the 1st Platoon and 2nd Platoon was dead. On the east side, only a handful of Marines were still alive, dug in a hole, hoping for a miracle. The mortars managed to take down another Vertibird, even though they were only doing carpet bombing runs. The operation was a failure.

"It's over. We're dead...we're dead," a terrified Marine said.

"Do you hear that? The mortars stopped. And they're not shooting anymore," Garcia said.

"They don't have to! We're surrounded by fire, we have nowhere to go and they know it. It's only a matter of time before we burn to death," the Marine replied.

"This is not the way I expected to go. We're soldiers, we're supposed to go down fighting, not cowering in a hole." That's the part that bothered him the most. Not the death itself, but the form in which it was coming.

"What would you have us do?"

"I don't know," Garcia said. "I don't know."

Miller, Lipton and Wolcott were still fighting their way through the corridors. The turrets thinned out the resistance, but they were still outnumbered. Many of the slavers from the outside started returning inside to fight the intruders. Stealth was no longer an option, but the stealth suits still made it more difficult for the enemy to see them and get a good shot. Just before they entered the target room, Walcott got shot.

"Shit! I got shot," he said as they entered the room. He quickly applied the biogel, buying himself a little time.

"Lipton, look for a way to contact someone, you know the channel. Wolcott and I'll cover you," Miller said.

"There's a ham radio over here! Looks like it's working," Lipton said. "This is Lance Corporal Michael Lipton. Operation Sledgehammer is failure. Need immediate assistance! I repeat, need assistance! Can anybody hear me?"

"Keep trying!" Miller shouted.

"Corporal, this is Fort Titan control. What's your situation? Over."

"We've been ambushed, experienced heavy losses. We need reinforcements, ASAP!"

"Roger that. We'll be sending reinforcements immediately. Hold your position. Over," the voice on the radio said.

"Hold position? I don't think so, we need to get to the roof and take out those mortars before the others arrive, or we'll have another bloodbath," Miller said. Staying put was not an option for him.

"Titan? Requesting permission to relocate and eliminate mortars on the roof," Lipton said.

"That's a negative, Corporal. Hold your position, this comes from the top. You are not to-"

"Looks like we lost our connection," Miller said after he shot the radio.

"Are you out of your mind?! What if we need to contact them again? You'll get us all court-martialled!" Lipton screamed.

"Enough! We need to get to that roof, right now!"

"There's too many of them," Wolcott said.

"Lipton, those charges in the armory - blow them!" Miller ordered.

Lipton pulled out the detonator and blew up the armory downstairs. A portion of the slavers immediately went down to investigate.

"It worked," Wolcott said. "They're splitting up."

All three of them took a Med-X, each one threw out a grenade, waited a moment for them to explode, then run out. They run through the corridors, and just kept shooting.

"Just keep moving!" Miller yelled. They reached the roof, caught the slavers by surprise and quickly took them out. They took a look at the battlefield, only to see things were even worse than they thought.

"When do you think the reinforcements will be here?" Lipton asked.

"If they're sending Valkyries, pretty soon." Miller replied. "Now cover the door. They'll keep coming and there's nowhere left to go."

"Yeah, I guess going back that way in not an option."

()

Grayson walked back and forth in his office, annoyed by Moore's persistence. He was still confident in victory, though, until one of his men walked in.

"Grayson, we've got a problem. More than one, actually," the man said nervously. Grayson had a temper, and everybody knew it.

"What is it?" Grayson asked.

"Something's going on with Moore, we can't get into the interrogation room. And the intruders've taken over the roof."

Grayson hit the table in anger. "Damn it!"

"That's not all. They've been messing with the radio, we think they were trying to contact someone."

"Trying, or succeeding?" Grayson asked, now completely furious.

"We don't know," the man replied.

Grayson picked up his gun from the table and put in the holster. "Find me a bottlecap mine, then come see me in front of the interrogation room," he said to the man and left the office. Meanwhile, the Valkyries have already arrived. One of them landed on the roof and dropped off a squad of six Thunderfists. The other one started firing on the enemy infantry in front of the base. Fortunately, the Valkyries were a lot more resistant than the Vertibirds.

"I saw a few survivors down there! I'll pick them up, then come back to give you boys some air support," the pilot of the first Valkyrie said.

"Can you even land there?" Lipton asked.

"I don't know, but I'm sure as hell going to try. I'm not just going to leave them down there," the pilot replied and took off.

"Good to finally see you," Wolcott said to the Thunderfists. "We could use some help."

"Don't tell me you're all they sent," Miller said.

"No, the entire Fox Company will be here as soon as possible. There are several trucks on the way as we speak. They'll take the east approach while we work our way down from here," one of the Thunderfists said.

"Two of you stay here and use the mortars. Turn their own weapons against them," Miller said. "The rest of us are going back inside. The Colonel is still in the building"

"Sounds like a plan," the Thunderfist said.

While they started fighting their way through the base once again, Private Garcia and the rest of the Marines had already given up all hope, when they saw the most beautiful sight they could possibly wish for at that moment. A Valkyrie, coming for them. The pilot shot some trees down to make room for landing and opened the hatch.

"Hahaha! I don't believe it! Garcia screamed out in excitement.

"Come on, get in! Go, go!" They were finally out of that hell. The entire Easy Company took part in the assault, but only five of them survived. Five.

()

Grayson stood in front of the interrogation room with a bottlecap mine in his hand. He placed it near the door, moved to a safe distance and shot it, blowing the door open. He walked inside and found both Moore and Nelson on the floor, thrown off their feet by the blast. Grayson walked up to Nelson, shot her in the head and stepped over her corpse to get to Moore, who could barely move. He was slowly crawling across the floor, desperately trying to reach his gun. Grayson watched him struggle and intentionally let him come within an inch of the gun, just so he could step on his hand at the last moment and kick the gun away.

"You caused me a great deal of trouble today," Grayson said to Moore. "But not enough to stop me."

"W...why don't you just kill me?" Moore asked.

"Don't worry, I fully intend to. But not before I get the last piece of information out of you. And I might still need you to get out of here." He said, then ordered one of his men to carry Moore and headed for the underground tunnel. He truly believed that once they made it out of the base, he'd get the information he wanted, but he didn't realize one thing. There was no torture, no threat, no offer that could ever make Moore give anything away. He was far too loyal, too honorable for that. They reached the stairwell at the same time Miller and his team did. As soon as Grayson noticed them coming, he grabbed Moore and used him as a human shield.

"Step back," he said. "Step back right now."

"You'll get only one chance to let him go, asshole," Miller said.

"Now, that was uncalled for. Can't we all just stay polite and civilized? Resolve this situation like gentlemen?" Grayson said.

"Go fuck yourself." Miller said, and Grayson made a clear threat by cocking the hammer of his .44 Magnum that was still pointed at Moore's head.

"Miller..." Lipton whispered.

"Alright," Miller said. " I'm putting my rifle down." He threw it at Grayson's feet and distracted him for a split-second, buying himself a chance to pull out his gun and take the shot. Unfortunately, Grayson's head was completely obscured by barely conscious Moore, forcing Miller to shoot him in the shoulder instead. As soon he got hit, Grayson dropped Moore, aimed the gun at Miller and they both took the shot simultaneously, but only one of them hit the intended target. Grayson hit the ground, as did Lipton. Grayson's men quickly got mowed down by the other Thunderfists. One of them injected Moore with the so-called miraculous serum and got him back on his feet, while Miller checked Lipton for vitals.

"He's gone," he said. "The damn bullet went straight through the armor, hit the heart. Lucky shot."

"Lucky for who?" Wolcott asked. He couldn't understand how Miller didn't seem too bothered by the loss of yet another one of his men.

They returned to the roof and got Moore extracted by the Valkyrie. At the same time Fox Company, led by Lieutenant Fawkes, finally arrived on the scene. This time, the slavers were the ones who were outnumbered and outgunned.

"No more games, time to die!" As the remaining slavers heard Fawkes' battle cry and saw the incoming TSC forces, most of them realized they didn't stand a chance anymore and surrendered. The rest of them were quickly wiped out. The battle was over.

()

As Private Scott Garcia stepped foot on the Fort Titan's courtyard, he wasn't sure how he is supposed to feel. Grateful because he survived, or sad because he lost a friend? He took a look at the recruits being pushed to their limits and beyond by Sergeant Hartman and thought to himself: "They don't know how good they've got it." He entered the processing tent to find out what happened to his other friend.

"Officer," he said as he saluted. "Did Lance Corporal Michael Lipton arrive?"

"Let me check...apparently not. He's not among the casualties reported so far, either. A lot of Marines are still unaccounted for, you'll just have to be patient, Private," officer Lawson said.

Garcia walked out of the tent and noticed Miller coming from the landing pads. Unwilling to just sit and wait like Lawson told him to, he approached Miller to find out what happened.

"Lieutenant!" he yelled out and run to him. He saluted but Miller didn't bother to do the same.

"What do you want?" Miller asked.

"I'm looking for my friend, Michael Lipton. He was assigned to your team."

"Yeah, well you can stop looking. He's worm food now," Miller said and he was about to walk away, but when he saw the look on Garcia's face, he added: "He, ahm...he kicked ass. Yeah, not bad at all."

"Lieutenant Miller!" A Marine called out from the distance. "The brass wants you to report to the Olympus. They're waiting for you at the teleporter."

"Probably wanna give me a medal," Miller said to Garcia and headed for the teleport room. One of the recruits saw them talking and walked up to Garcia.

"You lucky bastard! That's Miller you were talking to. A living legend! Hey, you were in the battle today too, weren't you? I hear if it was rough." the Marine said.

"You could say that," Garcia said quietly. He was still absorbing the news...lost two of his best friends, his brothers, in one day.

"Looks like you were one of the lucky ones. Left with a few scars and an awesome war story. Right?"

"Awesome?" Garcia looked at him with a mix of anger and disgust. "Let me tell you something about war. I hate it. I hate it the way only a soldier who's lived it can, only someone who's seen its...its brutality, its futility, its fucking stupidity! Tell me, what did we accomplish out there? What did we win? Freedom? Like hell we did! Tomorrow they'll be other assholes looking to make a living by enslaving people. And others after them. We can't stop that. The only thing we accomplished is getting our people killed. My friends! All dead! So fuck Moore and his speeches! And fuck your war stories! There's nothing good about war. Nothing! Nothing except its ending." He said this so loudly that the entire courtyard heard him. All of them stopped what they were doing and listened to this broken man shout in anger and pain, watched his eyes fill with tears as all of his emotions surfaced. None of them ever forgot those words. As for Garcia, he left the TSC a few days later and headed west. Nobody knows what became of him after that.

()

Moore lay in the Olympus medical bay, still recovering from the physical trauma he endured. His body was in bad condition, but his mind was even worse. He couldn't stop thinking about all the lives that were lost, all the people he let down. He never experienced a defeat such as this one before. His thoughts were interrupted when Brigadier Karpov, his old friend, entered the room. Moore saluted him, and Karpov did the same as a sign of respect, but then added: "It's just us. No need for the formalities, Doug".

"Sorry. A force of habit," Moore said. Karpov approached the window and took a look at the Earth. He just stood there silently for a moment.

"It's really amazing, isn't it? Sometimes I still can't believe all of this is real," Karpov said.

"Me neither. That's why I prefer to remain down there. This place, it makes me feel uneasy."

"How are you holding up?"

"I've seen better days," Moore said.

"I know it was rough, but we won. That's the part we have to focus on."

"We won? It doesn't feel that way," Moore said with sorrow. "We lost so many..."

"It wasn't your fault," Karpov reassured him.

"Yes, it was. I know that no plan survives contact with enemy, but this was absolutely catastrophic."

"You couldn't have known. Besides, I'm the one who ordered the assault."

"And I'm the one who rushed it. I just wanted to get this over with, so we can focus on the Brotherhood. I should have prepared better. I have never been so careless in my entire life, and my men ended up paying the price," Moore said.

"Getting the slavers out of the way was the right call. But alright, so maybe it wasn't your brightest moment. Still, given the circumstances, I don't think that anyone else, including me, would've done better. Losses happen. Days like that happen. That's the burden we have to live with, but you can't let others see you doubting yourself. It's not becoming of a leader. I'd expect you to know that by now."

"I do. I'm only telling this to you, as a friend. Don't worry, I don't intend to dwell on it. I will just make sure it never happens again."

"Good," Karpov said. "But we still have to go through what happened. I've read the reports, but I wanted your personal opinion. I still don't understand how they managed to -"

"- I know. They hired mercenaries, which wasn't that much of a surprise. But some of them had plasma rifles, Fat Man... they even had mortars. Slavers may have the caps, but you can't just buy those things anywhere," Moore said.

"What are you saying?" Karpov asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"I think they may have joined forces with the Brotherhood. Irons could have supplied them with that weaponry to weaken us before his own troops arrive."

"I highly doubt he'd just give away such technology, no matter what the reason was," Karpov said. And he had a point. The Brotherhood wasn't exactly known for sharing technology.

"I agree." Moore said. "But there's also the matter of that man, Grayson. He tried to pass himself off as one of the slavers, but I don't think that's what he really was."

"You think the Brotherhood sent him to oversee the operation." Karpov said. After considering it for a moment, he added: "It's possible. But until we have proof, you keep that to yourself, and I'll discuss it with the Council. We're vulnerable right now, we must tread carefully."

"Of course," Moore said.

"Still, allying with the slavers...seems too extreme, even for Irons."

"If it's not him, it could be the Enclave remnants or someone else. Or maybe they did do it on their own, after all. Hard to tell at this point."

"Well, we're interrogating the surrendered slavers. Hopefully that will shed some light on this mess. But there is something else I wanted to ask you. Why didn't Miller take the north approach like he was supposed to?"

"I ordered him to. I had a bad feeling about Grimes, so I decided to alter the plan a little. Just goes to show how much I rushed into this," Moore said.

"Why didn't you at least request more troops if you didn't trust him?" Karpov asked.

"What was I supposed to do? Take another company into battle based on an instinct? I couldn't do that, especially not now when we have to protect our borders. What if the slavers had turned out to be just a distraction for a Brotherhood offensive? I couldn't take that risk, using Miller's team was the best option. Sometimes great results can be achieved with small forces."

"Speaking of Lieutenant Miller, I heard what he did out there. Now, if it was up to me, I'd give him a damn medal. But a few of the Councilors expressed concern over some of his actions."

"I don't blame them. In fact, I share their concern. But please, let me take care of this on my own."

"I knew you'd say that. That's why I've already sent for him. He should be here any minute now, and you have to talk some sense into him. I can handle the Council this one time, but if something like this happens again, my hands will be tied," Karpov said.

"I know. Thank you."

"You're welcome. But I would like to know - why are you protecting him like this?"

"He saved the day," Moore said. "Shouldn't that count for something?"

"But this isn't the first time you've stood up for him. There must be some other reason."

"Do you know what my father once told me? That great men are not born great, they grow great. I truly believe that Miller has the potential to become a great man. If I could just manage to rid him of that anger, of all that rage...I know he'd fulfill that potential," Moore said.

"And what makes you think that?" Karpov asked.

"I'm not entirely sure. But you know, he's not much different than I once was."

"Now that's bullshit, Doug. You had your share of disagreements with the high command, but you were never nearly as arrogant, aggressive or reckless as that man is."

"There is a lot you don't know," Moore said.

"But I do know you. And I know it was a different time back then, different circumstances. We all did things we're not proud of, but isn't that exactly why we left the Enclave?"

"Those days still haunt me sometimes," Moore whispered quietly, staring out the window. He spent a lot of time trying to escape his past, but it always caught up with him. He turned back to Karpov and asked: "But we're on the right side now, right? The good guys?"

"I don't know about that," Karpov said. "But we're definitely not the bad guys. What's going on with you? I've never seen you doubt yourself like this. You really haven't been yourself lately, perhaps you should be off duty for a while."

"I can't. Not right now," Moore said, when the door opened. Miller entered the room and saluted.

"You wanted to see me?" Miller asked.

"We'll continue this another time," Karpov said to Moore and left the room.

"You did a fine job out there," Moore said.

"I know," Miller replied.

"Yes, except for the fact you disobeyed a direct order, destroyed the only means of communication with Fort Titan and executed a defenseless prisoner! What the hell were you thinking?" Moore said angrily.

"I was winning us the battle! The order was idiotic, the backup was already on the way, and yeah, I killed a slaver. Big fucking loss."

"You'll watch your mouth when you talk to me, or I swear I'll have you locked up! Who do you think you are? It's not up to you to decide what's right and what's wrong. You follow orders, and you don't act like a war criminal!"

"A war criminal," Miller said with a chuckle.

"Is there something funny about that, Lieutenant?"

"Yeah. If you ask me, the only crime in war is losing it. And I'm the only reason that didn't happen."

"Goddamn it, will you ever learn? Rules of warfare exist for a reason. It's what separates us from animals, what keeps us from descending into chaos," Moore said.

"Doesn't work if only one side plays by those rules. You think the slavers give a shit about that? If you want to beat them, you gotta play by their rules. And that's really easy 'cause they've got only one rule - kill or be killed. Simple as that."

Moore knew that Miller had a point. He could have just sent him away instead of arguing with him, but was still certain that, given enough time and effort, he really could change him. "You're right," he said. "It's difficult to fight an enemy that has no boundaries without crossing any lines yourself. But if we do that, where do we draw the line? And are we any better than them if we take that path, the path of least resistance? That's what you never understood. You still don't understand. We're trying to make this world a better place. To do it, it's not enough to stop men like the slavers, it's not enough to emerge victorious. No, we need to keep future generations from becoming like them by setting an example, by showing them there is another way. As a wise man once said: 'be the change you wish to see in the world.' If you can't see it that way, then there is no place for you here. I stood up for you for the last time. If you do something even remotely improper ever again, I will personally make sure you face the consequences."

"Yeah, but -" Miller tried to speak, but Moore interrupted him.

"Enough! There'll be a ceremony for the Marines lost in the battle, tomorrow at Fort Titan. I expect you to be there. Dismissed!"

Miller barely refrained from saying something. He just saluted, somehow managing to make it look insincere, then walked away.

()

The next morning, a memorial ceremony was held in the Fort Titan's courtyard. The Marines of all ranks gathered and waited in respectful silence for Brigadier Karpov to start the ceremony. Private Garcia was among the crowd, paying last respects to his brothers in arms before leaving the TSC for good. Brigadier Karpov arrived and started the ceremony.

"We are here today to honor the fallen, to show our gratitude for their service, their acts of undeniable valor, and the ultimate sacrifice they laid upon the altar of freedom." Karpov said and nodded at Moore, signaling him to continue, then left the stage.

"Before the battle, I called it our first step toward greatness. I can think of no better way to honor our fallen heroes than to take the next step, and the one after that, until we reach that goal. A great task remains before us — to ensure they will not have died in vain. To make their actions echo throughout eternity, never forgotten." Moore paused for moment as he found himself at a loss for words, but he soon remembered one of his favorite poems, and decided to end with that. "They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them."

"Nicely said," Karpov said to Moore after he left the stage.

"Not my words. An old poem," Moore said.

"And it still applies. I guess some things never change, do they?"

"War, Moore said. "War never changes."


End file.
